


cardigan.

by guidingkeys



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Asphyxiation, Dirty Talk, F/M, Hispanic/Latine EH y'all already know how I function by now., Minor Character Death, Oral Sex, Praise Kink, Rough Sex, Single Parenting, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-22 15:00:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30040449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guidingkeys/pseuds/guidingkeys
Summary: Seeing him again after all this time cracked open a floodgate of complicated emotions Historia thought she’d sealed tight the day she left.
Relationships: Krista Lenz | Historia Reiss/Eren Yeager, Ymir Fritz & Krista Lenz | Historia Reiss
Comments: 15
Kudos: 69





	cardigan.

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a Tumblr prompt: “I’m on a really shitty blind date, and you got fed up with the asshole I’m with, so you dump water on their head and ask to take me on a better date. I totally accept.” Tweaked it a lot.
> 
> Yes, I’m still alive. Yes, I’m gonna update Golden eventually. And, yes, the title is after the Taylor Swift song that lives in my head absolutely rent-free.

Historia wasn’t sure what possessed her to come here.

Her family frequented Kiyomi Azumabito’s restaurant when she was a kid. Ms. Kiyomi had just resigned from her position as Rod's assistant manager of almost ten years, opening her own restaurant closer to the tourist hotspot. Rod was pissed off but that didn't stop Frieda from driving down to Stohess almost every weekend when she was on summer break, _borrowing_ his minivan and stuffing it with her sisters and beach towels and inflatable donut rings to show their support and hop to the beach right after.

This place was a lot smaller when she was younger. Or maybe Historia just got bigger. It _had_ been six years since she'd been back here. House of Azumabito was a dark wood establishment with a modern flare, grass dividers along the aisles, and racks of spices by the kitchen window. Ms. Kiyomi still had the large fish tank brimming with clownfish and tiny rainbow fish and pink starfishes stuck to the clean glass, and a smile blossomed on Historia's mouth when she first walked in. The fishes were Abel's favorite part. She would turn over the kids' many and split the thin crayons into quarters with her drawings.

A glass display stocked with sushi replaced the old dessert bar Florian once loved. She always ordered a massive bowl of mint cream bingsu. Frieda used to roll her eyes and scold her for eating so much sugar while collecting Florian’s mass of dark hair and sweeping it up into a ponytail. Even at twelve, the girl could never eat without getting food all over her face.

Historia was both happy and sad to be here.

She flipped over her phone. Her lock screen was a snapshot of her baby girl, Ymir, stomping down the hallway of their old apartment in Sina; an oversized cardigan dragging on the ground like a cape. She’d turned around and flashed a rare, dimpled grin at the camera before she fell flat on her face a second later, tripping over the sleeves.

No messages.

Historia unlocked her phone and checked her father’s message log, hoping she didn’t miss anything important. She should be relieved there was nothing, but Historia sighed, unable to shake the worry churning her empty stomach. Ymir was an angel as a newborn. She never gave a problem unless she was sick. Historia never imagined Ymir could grow up to be anything other than perfect.

But she was learning the hard way.

She remembered those warnings about the Terrible Twos, but that wasn't it. It was the Trying Threes that became a test of Historia’s resolve.

The tantrums, the yelling, the talking back—Ymir’s stubborn refusal to do anything drove Historia to an edge. Ymir even made her father swallow his pride and retract his statement of Abel being the worst of them all.

Historia couldn’t imagine how he was faring tonight all by himself. She didn't like being forced to trust him, and she didn't enjoy going out in the evenings. After work at the vet office, all she wanted to do was go home and read a book. She wasn't sure if Ymir how Ymir would act from daytime care. She wasn't a socially anxious kid, and Historia thanked her lucky stars for that. She just hoped and prayed Rod would continue to swallow his pride and call if something went wrong.

She needed a reason to get out of here, anyway.

She returned her phone to its face-down position, drumming her chipped nails on the table. Historia wondered once again if she made the right choice to come out here tonight, and all signs continued to point to _no_. And the biggest sign of them all, marching around like a red flag, was a few feet away from her, working hard to earn his tip.

Why the fuck did Eren Yeager work here?

She hadn’t recognized him when she walked in, but Eren did, passing by the hostess desk, the menus almost slipping out of his grasp when the door closed behind her. His eyes roved over her face like a treasure map, sifting down to her figure. It creeped her out for a second until he spoke her name like a question, and Historia froze. She’d recognize that whisper-smooth accent anywhere. Shock tumbled into her when she noted his eyes. She felt stupid for not recognizing him sooner, considering how many times she saw those gray eyes in her dreams on lonely nights.

She was torn between throwing herself at him or running out the door.

Eren snapped out of it first. He guided her to an empty table for two, his jaw clenched tight. He didn’t ask how she was doing. Didn't speak. Historia said nothing.

What could she say?

He’d always been taller than her, but now Eren loomed at a comfortable six feet. He had his black hair twisted back into a half-bun, loose strands brushing his forehead. Historia couldn’t tell how long it was. It had to tumble over his shoulders. His baby face smoothed out into a sculptor’s dream. Eren looked more like his father than his mother and grew the facial hair to match her assessment. He’d also buffed up, filling out his shirt. Or Eren bought shirts in his proper size now.

Whichever the reason was, Historia had to stop thinking about how devastatingly hot he was. She should _not_ be having these indecent thoughts when she was on a date with someone else.

She let out a tense breath, straightening her back, trying to muster all the grace and beauty and channel it. Channel Frieda. She tried to follow what her date was asking of Eren. Historia couldn’t remember his name, even if there was a gun pressed to her head. Garin? Gary? She was good at remembering names. But when he didn’t call, showing up to the restaurant almost thirty minutes late, Eren shooting her pitiful looks, and informed her she’d have to drive him back to his dorms because buses weren’t in service after nine p.m., her mind decided his name was the least of her problems.

And if she had to blame someone, Historia would point the finger at Sasha. This blind date was her idea. According to Sasha, Niccolo knew this guy. _Hey, even if it goes wrong, at least you’ll get outta the house for a little while!_ Sasha had told her. Historia only said she’d been _thinking_ about getting back into dating—not that she was _ready_ and completely _available_ to do it right now. But Sasha looked so sincere and optimistic this would all work out somehow. Historia would’ve felt like a bitch to not give it a chance.

So she was here. Historia was here, her date boring Eren to tears but the guy would never let it show. He knew how to push through and prosper.

“So,” her date said, his brow crinkled. “What’s… boz-amm?”

“Bossam,” Eren corrected, though the word rolling off his paisa accent sounded just as wrong. Historia bit back a smile. “It’s sliced pork. Comes with kimchi wrappings and a dipping sauce of your choice.” he gesticulated the motions with his hands. “You wrap it up yourself.”

Her date scratched his Liberio Vultures baseball hat. Her father wouldn’t let this guy within ten feet of their house. Rod and her brothers were die-hard Sina Stallion fans. “That sounds kinda weird,” he said. “I think I won’t—”

“I’ll take it,” Historia announced, “with the saeujeot sauce, please.”

Eren smirked and wrote it down.

Her date shot her a dubious look. Why did it matter to him? Historia offered to pay for her own food. “Hey, wait a minute,” he scrolled through the front and back of the menu again like he hadn’t gone over it three times in the last ten fucking minutes. “How come there isn’t any sushi?”

Historia coughed into her elbow.

Eren’s mouth twitched like he wanted to laugh, but he kept his face schooled. “We have sushi,” Eren pointed towards the display by the hostess desk with the ballpoint of his pen. “But it’s for takeout only. You could place an order now, and it’ll be ready by the time you leave.”

“Oh, no, thanks, man,” he denied, running his thumb across his forehead. “I’m allergic to most seafood, especially shellfish. I can handle shrimp, but it needs to be well cooked and without the tail.”

Eren thought, holding the pen under his bottom lip. Historia dropped her gaze to the table, fingering the ivory tablecloth. “You should avoid agujjim, mudfish soup, nakji bokkeum—”

“Get me the nakji bokkeum, please.”

Eren’s brows popped. “Viniste con hambre, enana.”

 _Ugh_. That. Stupid. Fucking. Name _._ She loathed the way it roamed past his lips and sent her heart racing for older days that would never be the same. “Yes,” she muttered, “I’m starving.”

Her date’s thin mouth twisted. He pointed at her and turned to Eren. “What’s she having?”

“ _She_ can speak for herself,” Eren responded pointedly.

She appreciated that. More than that, she’d appreciate it if Eren would _go away._ The more her date nagged him, the longer Eren lingered. She didn’t like how he was within arm’s reach after all this time. She was tempted. Her mind couldn’t stop replaying all her what-if scenarios like a wonky movie reel. There were too many memories between them, an ache sprouting deep within her heart. Eren permanently inhabited a space, no matter how much she tried to squash it when she left Shiganshina three years ago.

“It’s octopus,” Historia explained. “It might be a little spicy, but I promise it’s good! My older sister used to love it.”

Eren’s face flickered in understanding.

Her date’s face contorted. As if he’d try to kiss her tonight, and she’d _let_ him. She almost gagged at the thought of how the night could end.

“I think I’m okay with everything I’ve ordered.”

Eren nodded, tucking it under his armpit along with hers. “It’ll be out in a couple of minutes,” he told her.

She bit her lip as Eren turned on his heel, leaving her alone with this guy. As much as Eren’s presence annoyed her, a large part of her didn’t want him to go away.

“Hey, wait!” Eren looked over his shoulder at her date, his industrial piercing catching in the dim light. “Gimme a beer. You have Heineken?” He flashed her date a thumbs up.

Her date popped his electric blue cap off. She felt so overdressed in her snug, off-shoulder lace dress and a face full of makeup. At least she kept her hair down. “So, you know that guy.”

Historia’s head tilted. “Who? Eren?”

“Yeah. Our server.”

She sipped on her green tea. She didn’t appreciate the implication in his tone and the displeased glint in his green eyes. “He lived on my block,” Historia kept it curt. “He was new. My father invited his family to my sister’s fifteenth party, and we’ve been… friends ever since.”

That satisfied him. “So you guys went to school together, too?”

She could almost roll her eyes at how much he cared about a guy who was no longer in her life the same way as before. Historia knew telling the whole truth about how they used to hook up would’ve caused problems. Nobody ever wanted to hear the dirty details about exes. She didn’t consider Eren an ex-boyfriend. She wasn’t sure where Eren landed on her scale. They hadn’t spoken since she left.

“No. I went to Shingeki Private. Eren went to Shingeki North High.”

“Oh, wow. A private school girl, huh?” He set his elbows on the table. “Would that mean you’re a little high maintenance?”

She straightened her back. “What does private school have to do with that?” Historia asked. “It was my father’s decision to put me there. Not mine. If it were up to me, I would’ve gone to a public school.” She shrugged, draining her tea. “It would’ve saved my father thousands of dollars.”

“Yeah, private school’s kind of scam,” he agreed, though that wasn’t what Historia was alluding to. “But you could’ve always asked to leave.”

“My dad wanted better opportunities for his kids—opportunities he didn’t have in his country.”

His green eyes twinkled. “Oh, that’s right! Sasha told me! You’re from… Mexico, right?”

Historia almost cringed at his delight. _That’s_ what Sasha told him? Yeah, sure, that tidbit might interest him, but what about this guy gave Sasha the impression Historia would return the favor? “My father’s from Venezuela. I was born here, and so were most of my siblings."

“Oh. Gotcha.” Eren dropped by, depositing a cold Heineken and a refill of green tea she didn’t ask for. Their fingers touched when she took it from him, a spark eliciting in her body Historia kept covered. He popped the beer cap open, eyeing her before Eren left. She tried not to watch him go.

Her date’s next question stopped her, anyway. “But what about your mom? I imagine she’s gotta be European because…” He gestured to Historia; her blonde hair and blue eyes and delicate features.

“I’d rather not talk about my mother—if that’s okay with you.” 

They went silent.

Her date sipped his beer. “Sorry.” His eyes flicked to her. He meant it. “I didn’t mean to open a sore spot.”

“It’s fine,” Historia shrugged. “I’m just not comfortable talking about her with strangers.”

“Understood.”

There wasn’t a clatter of utensils hitting glass plates to cut the tension. Most customers ate with chopsticks. A pleasant quiet replaced what would’ve been an air filled with conversation. Historia’s eyes flitted about the room, landing at the table by the bathroom. She had a perfect view over her date’s tense shoulder.

A baby—it couldn’t be more than a year old—bounced and squealed in the highchair. She observed Eren crouch to be at face level with the baby, the mother explaining something to him. Eren watched the baby draw for him on the back of the kids’ menu. It must be a mess of bold, squiggly lines, but Eren grinned like it was the most amazing drawing anyone had ever done for him.

Eren used to be one of two tutors for the Shingeki Elementary after-school program. Shingeki North High required a minimum of twenty-five hours of volunteer work to graduate. She used to be the other. But Historia didn’t need the hours to graduate—her Student Council endeavors took plenty care of that. She just loved kids, and any excuse to be out of her empty house was always a good one. Eren spent most of his afternoons neglecting his homework, tucked in his parents’ garage with the radio blaring 80’s metal and modifying his father’s old power cruiser. He wasn’t old enough to get a job at the auto shop, but he started his ASE certification the day after he turned sixteen.

They agreed she’d handle the Language Arts sections. Eren handled math. He had a quirky way of explaining equations so seven-year-olds could follow along. Both of them sucked at science, but they tried their best. She still had some of those drawings the kids did—stick figures and cats and flowers.

A different server brought her bossam, the long rectangular glass plate sectioned with three small squares. Historia thanked them and ripped the chopsticks bag, her stomach growling.

Her date didn’t move a muscle.

“You should try this,” Historia offered, the kimchi in her palm while she placed the fatty, square pork on it and added a dash of rice and drizzled sauce with the spoon. “My father knew the owner for years. She told me it’s common to eat this when you’re drinking alcohol. You said you like shrimp, right?”

“Uh. Yeah,” he said, uncertain, “But I have no clue how to use chopsticks…”

“It’s okay,” Historia shrugged a shoulder, swallowing the wrapped pork. “I’ll teach you.”

She tried for the next couple of minutes, keeping her hands to herself, guiding him with words. He couldn’t get the coordination right. He told her he was a softball player in high school, but Historia would've never been able to tell. She didn't fault him for not being able to get it right, but she giggled every time the pork slice slipped between his chopsticks and plopped on the plate. It only incited him rather than lessen his mortification.

“Whatever,” he grumbled. He didn’t bother trying anymore. The servers, Eren included, deposited their plates. He caught eyes with her again, but Historia looked away. Her date ordered utensils.

“My sister tried to teach us how to use chopsticks, but Abel could never get the hang of it,” Historia pacified, her mouth quirking at the memories. “We used to come here all the time whenever we went to the water park.”

“I don’t get why.” He said, eyeing the bowls of food with a skeptical eye. “It seems kind of… mediocre.”

“I don’t think so. This place is very homely to me.” She set her napkin on her lap. “My father knew the business owner before she resigned from his restaurant. She was like an aunt to us—like that cool aunt with all the money and the cool toys.”

Her date shrugged, the last plate sliding onto their table. “Yeah, I guess. Never had an aunt like that.”

“Really?”

“Nah. My mom was an only child, and my dad’s the second of three brothers.”

“Oh. Interesting. My father’s the youngest of two.”

“Cool.”

He spent the next forty-five minutes downing three more beers. He barely touched his food, too hyper-focused on selling himself like they were at a job interview panel. If this was how dating was, a boring construct of dull conversations Historia didn’t care to listen to and couldn’t partake in much, she’d rather be single for the rest of her life. She already knew the moment he showed up late it was over, he’d never get another chance. The most she could do was eventually eat her food and go home to an empty bed or cuddle with Ymir—if her toddler allowed her.

She finally learned his name. Gustaf, after his father and grandfather. He was a future investment banker, enrolled in Stohess University. He was taking time off to focus on other, unspecified things. Historia could guess. School bored Gustaf, it was his father’s plan for him, and he loved hunting and golfing too much to give it up. Expensive hobbies. By his fourth beer, he started slurring about his family life. Historia sat, trying to listen, but her stomach wasn’t sated from the pork. She wanted more. Her food was probably cold by now.

When Gustaf announced he needed to take a leak, she almost cheered. He stumbled his way towards the bathrooms. Now that he was gone, Historia ate in peace, away from his prying and judgmental green eyes.

Eren plopped into Gustaf’s empty seat, uninvited, not a few seconds later. He jut a thumb towards the bathrooms. “Parece como un aguacate empapado,” he mumbled, shaking his head. He fisted his cheek. “I thought you liked more hard-edge people, Historia.”

She almost choked, chopsticks in her mouth, pepper flakes on her tongue. She hated to agree with him. “I—It wasn’t my idea.” Historia cleared her throat. “Sasha set me up with him.”

“ _Puta madre_ ,” Eren blurted, fixing himself a wrap with the last slice of pork. “And you… just rolled with it?”

“Well, yeah,” she rolled her eyes, nibbling on the octopus. She didn’t feel embarrassed eating in front of Eren. “Sasha felt bad for me because all I do is work and go home. And I would’ve felt bad if I told her no. I dunno,” she shrugged, swallowing her food. “I deserve at least a couple of hours away.”

“Hm, yeah. Can’t judge you for that.” His eyes roved over the table. “Shit, I forgot how much food this guy ordered.”

“Yeah…” She just realized the number of noodles Gustaf ordered. He must’ve figured they were the safest choices, but he hadn’t touched them. He kept to the white rice, mixing it with whatever meat and vegetables he saw that wasn’t completely smothered in a sauce he couldn’t pronounce. “This is kind of your fault.”

He didn’t disagree. Eren tore open the extra chopstick bag and dug in. She wouldn’t stop him. Historia figured Gustaf would dump all the food at the end of the date. She hated food going to waste.

“What’re you doing here, Eren?” She asked carefully.

“I’m on my break,” he said after slurping the jjajangmyeon noodles. He struggled to use the chopsticks, too—twirling the noodles around the thin pieces of wood like eating spaghetti with a fork. They kept slipping off. “And I figured you could use a companion that won’t bore you to tears.”

She rolled her eyes, but a smile betrayed her. Eren had always been scary perceptive at reading her moods.

Historia let him struggle for a few moments more, filling her own stomach. She giggled, reaching out. “¿Por qué siempre tengo que enseñarte todo, bobo?” Historia muttered. She adjusted his grip, explaining how he had to rely on his wrists’ motion. He only needed to use his index finger and thumb to open and close. How Eren hadn’t mastered chopsticks when his adopted sister was Japanese, Historia would never know.

Eren shrugged. “You’re a good teacher.”

She rolled her eyes. “What I meant was”—his hand was so warm, Historia almost lost her sentence. She let go—“h—how come you’re working here?” Historia leaned back in her chair, putting distance between them. “Did something happen to your mom’s bar?”

Eren appreciated the help, though he still fumbled. But he handled everything with a stubborn determination that was both admirable and annoying. “It’s still there. Still thriving. My dad’s cut back his hours at the practice to help her out. They’re thinking of expanding a few towns. My mom hopes she can open a bar back home someday. But I work there on weekends.” He waved a hand, gesturing to himself. “You’re looking at their new bartender.”

“No way!”

“Yeah,” he grinned. “After I got my ASE, I got a mixology license. Figured I could do both. My mom’s trusting me more and more on my own at the bar. So. It was the least I could do.” Eren shrugged, flashing her that same expression that worked a hundred times over on her when they were teenagers. “You should stop by sometime. I can make you a mean Agua de Jamaica. I know you like piña coladas more, but...”

Historia rolled her eyes. “I’m sure my father would _love_ that.” She drawled. “He’s already got his hands full most days with Ymir.”

He blinked, taken aback. “Oh, shit. That’s right. You’re a mom now.” Eren scratched his jaw. “Shit, I forgot. How is she?”

“She’s good—I hope,” Historia’s brow rose high. “But how can you forget something like that?”

“Well.” He averted his eyes and finished the thick noodles blackened with bean paste. “I haven’t kept up with you since you left. We’re not Facebook friends anymore, Historia.” He had her blocked pretty much everywhere. But she wouldn’t dig into that scar right now. “So, uh, where’s her dad—if you don't mind me asking?”

“He transferred to a university about a year ago. Canada, I think. I want nothing to do with him, and he doesn't seem to care. He sends me child support every month, so that’s all I can ask for.” She picked some white rice, dunking it in her red sauce. “I saw he’s got another baby on the way on Facebook. I dunno if Ymir will ever know ‘em.”

Eren grimaced. “Sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. I was the dumb one. I forgot to take my pill that week and the condom broke. It was just a recipe for that to happen.”

“I wouldn’t say that. Shit just happens, mama.” Her heart fluttered. Eren tore into a color bed of brown noodles—japchae. Her favorite. But, damn, she forgot how much the guy could eat. “How old is she? Three?”

“Mhm. Just this past March.”

He smiled, even more distracting with the facial hair. Shit. “She looks just like you—all this considered.” Eren snatched her last octopus piece from the bowl, and Historia whined, knocking her chopsticks to his, trying to get it back. He chuckled, popped it in his mouth, smiling smugly. “All your siblings look like your parents, except you,” he said after he swallowed. “You always looked more like Frieda than your mom or dad.”

Historia’s head tilted. “Really?”

“... Yeah?” Eren’s brow rose at her careful, defensive tone. “Did I… say something wrong?”

“No,” Historia shook her head. “It’s…” She swallowed. “Frieda was so beautiful.”

He shrugged. “You were always prettier to me.”

She didn’t know what to say. Frieda and Eren never knew each other well. She was in London for her master's in healthcare administration and only came home for summer and winter breaks. Historia guessed they were civil enough. Frieda passed two years later after her plane crashed into the ocean on her way for winter break. The officials labeled it as an engine failure. Still, Historia never got the chance to ask if Frieda liked him.

Eren practically licked the bowl clean, then pushed the chair from the table. “I think I should go check on him. He’s been in there a while. He’s had, like, what, three beers?”

“I think he was starting his fifth.”

“Ah, shit.” He smacked his forehead. “I shouldn’t have let him drink that much.” Eren’s brow rose in suspicion. “He’s not driving home, right?”

“Nope. I have to drive him. He doesn’t have a car—his father took his Porsche from him.”

“Wow. Yikes. ”

“I’m trying not to judge,” she said.

He smirked. “And you’re failing miserably at it.”

She snorted but didn’t deny it.

He turned on his heel, and a pang rippled in her chest like a stab wound.

It would be an understatement to say she missed him. Eren was… the only one who knew her—really knew her as well as he knew the labels and functions of an engine. Every nozzle unturned, every ugly pipe, every uncomfortable detail she never shared with her sisters. It was frightening. Historia never knew her mother. Her father was overworked and a notorious cheater. She resulted from one of his indiscretions. Her stepmother never liked her, treated Historia as an enigma, and when Historia revealed how she was glad the woman died, Eren just shrugged and said he understood why she’d say that.

Even now, Eren didn’t consider her maternal status as anything other than an everyday occurrence. Not a result of her being careless. Seeing him again after all this time cracked open a floodgate of complicated emotions Historia thought she’d sealed tight the day she left.

“Hey, Eren?” She called out softly. He met her eyes. “It was nice seeing you again.”

Eren thought for a moment, regarding her how he used to. It made her shiver. “I don’t think this’ll be the last time we see each other tonight.”

* * *

Eren found Gustaf in the bathroom, slumped in a bathroom stall, flushed cheek pressed to the dirty toilet.

Her date was in a limbo between awake and tired. Eren forced him to sit like a toddler and drink a glass of water while Historia paid for their meal by the hostess desk. Gustaf needed to lean on Eren to make it out of the restaurant in one piece. It would take a while before the alcohol drained out of his system.

“You’re still gonna take him home?” Eren asked, adjusting Gustaf against his larger frame. The guy was a stick compared to Eren. “Not sure if that’s a good idea. You need me to go with you?”

The smell of stirred vegetables and chili pepper followed her out the doors. The night was warm, a beautiful dark sky painted with dots of stars. Couples and families meandered along the cobblestone, toddlers stomping on the jutted rocks like a game of hopscotch. Ms. Kiyomi's restaurant landed on the edge of a popular tourist plaza filled with gift shops and a tattoo parlor right before the tourist attraction—the water park a few blocks down, closed for the night. In the warm July afternoons of her childhood, Historia could hear the squeals of people from out here. She picked just the right spot.

“He puked, so no,” Historia snorted, slipping the bags off her wrist. The servers packed Gustaf’s leftovers in three plastic boxes and stuffed them in regular white thank you bags. Historia decided she’d take them home. Less for her to cook. Maybe Ymir would like the noodles. It was worth a try. “I have enough of that with Ymir and her car-sickness.”

“Yeah. That sounds rough,” Eren commented. “You think she’d take well to my bike?”

Historia almost dropped her items. He meant it as a joke by the smile he gave her, but... “You... still ride motorcycles?”

Eren stared at her for a long moment. “... Yeah? I finished fixing up my dad’s cruiser right around the time you left. It’s all mine now—as promised.”

She fixed her gaze on the cobblestone, her cheeks heating. Eren used to scoop her up on his dirt bike a few blocks away from her school, far from the prying eyes of her school administrators and cops. Rod never liked Eren, always said he was a bad influence on her with his grunge style and piercings, and if he ever found out Eren only had his learner's permit... But Historia didn’t care—her arms tight around his waist, cheek pressed to his muscular back; the smell of his musky cologne in her nose and the November chill slicing through their hair. Even with the stupid helmet on, she’d never felt so free.

“I ordered him an Uber,” she said, changing the subject. Gustaf groaned. “Should be a blue RAV. She’s around the corner.” Historia left the bags by her heels and dialed her dad’s contact. “I need to make a call.”

“Sure. I’ll be on the lookout.”

Her father picked up on the third ring. Their conversation was to the point. He told her he made the spaghetti with ground beef and red sauce, and Ymir ate it with no issues. She even asked for a second helping Rod was more than happy to give her. Historia was surprised but overall happy the night went well for one of them. Ymir was at that stage where she wanted nothing but dinosaur chicken nuggets and popsicle sticks. Rod told her they were watching _Guy’s Grocery Games,_ and Ymir was actually sitting still. Historia informed him she was on her way back.

Eren appraised her. “Everything good?”

She nodded. "Just letting my dad know I'm heading home. He's watching Ymir for me."

He blinked, surprised. “Wow. That’s…”

“... a vast improvement?”

Eren winced. “I didn’t wanna say it like _that._ But, yeah.”

Historia shrugged.

The RAV turned the corner. After Historia confirmed it was the Uber driver from the app, she let the nice woman know she’d tip her extra for having to deal with… _that._ Gustaf wouldn’t let go of Eren, a child being ripped away from their parent. Eren carefully talked him down, and, eventually, Gustaf handed over his wallet, too sleepy to speak—only garbled nonsense about his dad and his shoes. Eren passed the information onto the driver. Historia handed off one of her leftovers as a _thank you._ Once Eren had strapped Gustaf into the backseat, the driver rolled out of the plaza.

Eren looked down at her with a sly expression. “It would’ve been an asshole move of me to dump a pitcher of water on him, right?”

“I dunno,” she said, “he could use it right about now.”

“I should’ve left him some water.” Eren sighed, rubbing his temples. “I feel bad for the driver. She’s gotta deal with his shit.”

“Considering how unsurprised she was, I think she’s been through worse.” Historia idled to the parking lot. She knew Eren would follow her. “And, honestly, I think you would’ve done me a favor. He was insufferable.”

“What made him so bad?”

She’d been lucky to find a parking spot within a few steps of the restaurant. Historia stopped at her white Yaris and spun to face him. “Bueno, on top of him showing up looking like _that_ and me looking like _this”_ —she tugged on the skirt of her maroon dress, and Historia tried not to let it show how much it affected her to catch his eyes skating over her body—“he spent most of the night talking about himself. I had to hear the sob story about the fight he got into with his father over school. His old man cut him off from the trust fund, so now he’s struggling, but he doesn’t seem to care about making a budget. He also pinned me as high maintenance—” 

“You are, though.”

She pouted. “—it’s called not settling.” Historia corrected, popping open the passenger side and setting her bag on the floor mat. “And this guy wasn't looking to settle. This was all pointless and a waste of my time.”

His brows pinched. “Then why’d he bother coming out?”

Historia closed the door with her hip. “Why do you think? He must’ve thought I was easy with how Sasha described me.” Eren winced. “I can’t believe he got drunk. Isn’t it embarrassing to get drunk on the first date?”

He scratched his jaw. “I guess so.” Eren shrugged. “I’m not sure. I don’t think I’m obligated to have an opinion. I... I don’t have a lot of experience in the dating field,” he admitted reluctantly.

Her eyes bugged. “¿En serio?”

“Yeah?” Eren tilted his head. “Why’s that shocking?”

“I dunno,” she scrambled. “I guess ‘cause you’re… you, Eren. You’re attractive, and you’ve always been so… open and honest about what you want and how you feel. You never see a reason to hold back if it’ll cause confusion.”

He blinked a few times, her words catching him by surprise. There was no way Eren couldn’t know. They slept together for almost two years before Historia dipped faster than a father avoiding a court date. The parking lot lights pouring around them illuminated the slight blush coating his naturally tanned cheeks. Oh, my God. He didn’t know.

Eren scratched his jaw. “... Would you believe me if I said there are girls who don’t like that about me?”

“Yeah, I do.” She nodded. “Not everyone’s… equipped to handle you.” Historia sighed, rubbing her bare arms. “And the same goes for me, I guess.”

He snorted. “Yeah, that’s one way to put it.” Eren slid his fingers into the pockets of his slacks, letting out a tense breath. “To make a long story short, I’ve only been with one girl since graduation. We didn’t make it a year. We barely made it six months. It was… I don’t know how to describe it.” He scratched the back of his head. “It was kind of like you and me, but not exactly the same. We didn’t go out anywhere unless our friends were around, and I guess I liked that part. It made things… easier. Less nerve-wracking.”

“So, what did you guys do?”

Eren looked at her. “What do two people who find each other attractive do when they’re alone, Historia?”

“Hm... Take a nap?” Eren scoffed. “What”—she pushed his shoulder—“we took naps sometimes.” He shook his head, laughing under his breath. She poked his arm. “¡Oye! ¡No te ríes! When you become a dad, you’ll see sex as a chore. You’ll have to make schedules and everything!” Now, Eren laughed. Historia scoffed, crossing her arms. “Yeah, whatever. Keep laughing! You’ll look back on this moment years from now and realize I was right!”

Eren grinned, rubbing her hair. “Thanks for the advice, mom. I’ll remember it.”

She glared up at him. “Don’t you have work to get back to, bobo?”

He glanced behind him like he’d forgotten where they were for a moment. He took his hand away. “We’re closing soon. It’s fine.”

“Mhm…” Historia crossed her arms, assessing him. “You seem to have a lot of liberty.”

“Oh. Yeah,” he said, “Mikasa owns the restaurant.”

Historia’s head tilted. “Huh?”

Eren chuckled at her confusion. “Kiyomi found Mikasa while she was studying in Japan. Apparently, they’re related, from Mikasa’s mom’s side? They’re, like, second cousins removed—some complicated shit like that.”

“Wow.” Historia’s eyes fluttered. That’s right—Mikasa wanted to study abroad like Frieda. She didn’t remember what for. They were never close despite that Historia and Eren were… whatever they were. Fuck buddies. Friends with a lot more benefits than she could handle. “It’s a small world, after all.”

“Yeah,” Eren laughed, a warm chorus that made her heart skip a beat. “Yeah. It definitely is.”

His eyes lingered a little too long, and Historia floundered for the words to cut the strange energy charging the air. “I—Is she still with—”

“—that horse-faced asshole?” Eren finished, irritated in the way only Jean Kirstein could ever achieve. “Mhm. They’re married now and even more insufferable than they were before. They just finished moving in together about a month ago.”

“Holy shit! But... they’re still so young!”

Eren looked at her with a playful expression that said, _like you have any right to say that_. “Yeah, well. Jean always knew he’d marry her someday.” Eren shrugged. “He thought now was the right time. He asked my dad for permission and everything.”

“Hm. Well.” She pushed his shoulder gently. “You should get back to work, then. You used to tell me she’s as bad as your mother. I can’t imagine she’s changed much in three years.”

He nodded in agreement. “Not the slightest.”

But Eren didn’t move to leave.

His lips tightened into a flat line. He dropped his gaze to his boots, his brows wrinkled in concentration. Eren kicked a pebble lying out on the black pavement. The pavement was fresh and clean, the parking lines bold.

“I was so stupid happy when I saw you came back, Historia.” He whispered. Eren opened his mouth, closed it. Decided fuck it because that’s the person Eren was, and it would never change if he didn’t put his entire heart out there. “Sabía que volvería.”

Her mouth flopped open. “¿Cómo?” She demanded.

“A lot of dreaming with a dash of moronic hope. I guess it paid off.” He shrugged, stubbing his shoe into the cement. “I wanted to stop by, but I wasn’t sure if… you wanted to see me.” Eren shook that off. “You’re not leaving again, are you?”

“No,” she confessed, her heart pounding, “the city’s too crowded and messy. It’s not the environment I want for Ymir.” She smiled wryly. “Plus, my father’s retired now. He could use some entertainment. I feel a little bad he’s home all alone.”

His forehead creased in concern. “Are you sure that’s…”

Historia nodded. She had a rocky relationship with her father. He was thirty-five years her senior, and they were too much alike. Historia was the kid never meant to happen, the one Rod got stuck with and didn’t know how to handle. She would’ve ended up in the system if Frieda hadn’t confined him to take Historia from Alma. Frieda resolved to be the peacemaker between them.

When Frieda died, Rod was lost. He shriveled and decomposed into a skeleton of himself. She wasn’t sure how to deal with that Rod. Historia was already on the cusp of adulthood when Frieda’s plane crashed, and didn’t need her father’s permission to do anything. He blamed a lot of her rebellious antics on Eren, and stopped allowing him over—though that hadn’t stopped anything. Rod hadn’t taken well to the news of her pregnancy, especially when he learned the circumstances.

But Historia decided the day Ymir was born that she'd suck things up and be the bigger person. For Ymir's sake. Rod was giving it a try, day by day after Historia told him off. That was as much as she could ask for. They would never have a perfect relationship, and she was fine with that. As long as he never treated Ymir the same way he did to her. Ymir seemed to mend something in him that had broken the day Frieda died.

“Okay,” Eren conceded. “As long as you’re fine.”

“I am. It's always gonna be a work in progress.” Historia reached for the single pearl hanging from her thin silver chain around her neck. “But… Is that why we stopped talking?” She looked up at him hesitantly. “Because I left?”

His mouth twisted, and it dawned on her how much she wasn’t ready to hear what Eren would say. He scratched his head, wincing, knowing it would open up a wound mended over time. “I think it had a lot to do with telling you that I loved you. But, yeah, leaving home that same week with no idea when you’d come back also played into why we stopped talking.”

Historia swallowed. She remembered that day. Replayed it in her mind almost every day when she was in college. It was the summer before college called. They weren’t tutoring kids that day. They retreated to her room after Eren picked her up. She taught him how to paint her nails because she was too lazy to do it herself and none of her sisters were home. The rain poured in thick sheets outside her panel window. Things had been tense between them for a couple of days, and whatever it was, sex couldn’t kill it. Looking back on it when she was in college, Historia realized it sex only made things worse.

She had a few scholarships tucked under her arm, and Eren decided he didn’t want to go to college. He wanted to finish his ASE, try to find a job at the shop. Maybe help his parents at the bar. They were struggling with Mikasa’s school expenses, and Eren didn't want to add to that strain. But that hadn’t been the source of whatever was going on with him. Historia knew there was something else underlying all of it.

She couldn’t figure it out no matter how much she asked—Eren wouldn’t budge. It all made sense later that night when they were tangled in her sheets. Eren pulled her down on him, nuzzling his head into her damp neck, and whispered how he loved her.

She said nothing back.

A few days later, Historia packed for college, and Eren never saw her off.

She ran her thumb over the pearl. Historia couldn’t grasp how something that was only supposed to last for a couple of months inflated into six, into a year, into two, and then faded. “We agreed not to grow feelings, Eren.”

“Yeah,” he sighed up into the night sky, frustrated. “Yeah, we did.” Eren nodded solemnly. “It was my fault—I let it get into my head that you were the one for me.” He chuckled, but it was forced and dry. “I was so fucking mad at you for a long time. I deleted your number and unfriended you and blocked you on every app I could think of because I couldn’t… deal when you left. _God_ , Historia, and when I saw you had that baby... I...”

Just like her, Eren didn’t have anyone. His family moved to Paradis when they were fifteen. Every kid starting high school had their circle by then—clique, pack, whatever. Opening that circle to welcome outsiders was a dance Eren didn’t know how to do. He could be… too much. His only real friend was back in Risaralda, Colombia, and they stayed in contact thanks to the internet. Mikasa thrived in here, folding into a group of friends before school started, and Eren resented that fact for a while. He used to give his parents so much shit for moving them across the sea on baseless dreams for months. And much to Eren’s dissatisfaction, his parents did well here.

Her father invited the Yeagers over for Abel’s backyard quinceañera as a thanks to Grisha performing the surgery on Urklyn’s dislocated knee. Her sisters took an immediate liking to Mikasa and her gothic style, flocking to her like little fangirls. It was hot that day, and Historia felt stifled looking at Mikasa’s vintage black dress, a lace that looked so itchy, and platform combat boots. She wandered off, squeezing through family members she didn’t know well, and found the other black sheep of the party stuffing his face at their dessert table in the kitchen. His formal outfit wasn’t any better than that of his adopted sister, all black with a bright red tie, but Eren had the decency to stay indoors where it was cool and less noisy. The sliding glass door shut out most of the Aventura song playing outside while Abel did her customary dance with Tío Uri. The deep purple spirals in Eren’s ears annoyed her, and his accent tickled her skin all the wrong ways. His English was near perfect when Eren complimented the torta negra. He said it tasted just like his grandma’s. And he liked the quesillo venezolano a lot, too. Most people assumed Frieda made the desserts, and no matter how much Frieda denied, nobody believed her. But not Eren. He wasn’t shocked when Historia revealed she made them.

“But you fucked up, too.”

Her forehead creased. She dropped her hand. “How?” She tried not to sound defensive.

“You felt the same, but you were too scared,” Eren answered, stepping closer. “You should’ve told me, Historia.”

She held her elbows, needing to steady her shaky hands. “If I did, you would’ve persisted.”

His brows pinched. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means what it means, Eren.” Historia took a breath, looked up at him. He was too close, his neck tipped down—she stepped back. Eren seemed to realize his mistake and stepped back, the heated space between them diminishing. “You’re so… intense. About everything. Even now. You’re the type of person who needs it all _right now,_ or you’ll throw it away.”

He blinked. “I would’ve never thrown you away, mama.” Eren’s mouth parted, his mind stuck on how to say it. “How could you think I’d do that to you after everything you’ve ever told me about your family?”

She bit her lip. “Well.” She shrugged. “You kind of did.”

He shut his mouth.

“It’s okay. I understand why now.” She tucked some hair behind her ear. “I just… I couldn’t give that part of myself to you. I didn’t have it in me, Eren. I’d _just_ lost my sister when we started messing around. The last thing I wanted was to jump into a relationship. I told you that, and you said it was fine.”

Eren let loose a drawn-out sigh. He nodded, scratching the back of his neck. “Mhm. I get it. I just still wish you would've told me instead of letting me think you felt nothing for me back.”

Historia shook her head. “It’s better that I didn’t,” she insisted quietly. “I am sorry I hurt you. I never meant to do that. But we both knew we let it go on for too long.”

“Yeah. I didn't want to let you go."

Grief should’ve been a time for their family to come together. By the time she was sixteen, her siblings were worlds away, each handling it their own way. Frieda’s death left the house even emptier. She would go days with no sign of Rod. Historia adjusted to her new life as best she could.

But when grief pulled her under, it came with claws, sinking deep into her calves. It drowned her in black, choking her with tears, burning her lungs. Frieda taught her so much—how to read, do her makeup, and dispose of pads. That it was okay to like girls as much as guys. How to drive. That birth control was more than just a contraceptive method. Frieda never explained how to navigate in a world where she no longer existed.

Historia didn’t know why Eren had been the one she called when the tide crashed. They weren’t great friends. There was just something in him she recognized at her sister’s quinces. He was at her house in five minutes flat, clothes rumpled and hair messy from the ride over. He ran up her front porch. She told him he could come through her window next time. He let her do whatever she wanted—lean on him, cry on him, kiss him. He never knew how to tell her ‘no.’

Eren opened his mouth, but the call of a familiar voice interrupted him. “Eren?” Mikasa poked her head out of the restaurant doors. “Are you out here?”

He sighed. “Yeah. I’m over here,” Eren called.

Mikasa’s hair had grown almost to her shoulders, still as beautiful and jet black as Historia remembered. Her heels stressed her already supermodel frame and height. “Stop running off when you know I have plans with Jean,” she seethed from a distance.

He gave Historia a deadpan look.

“I thought I told you it’s your turn to clean the bathrooms,”—Eren counted off on his fingers—“and spot the tables, and count the cash for closing, and—”

Mikasa froze by Eren’s side, taking notice of Historia. “Oh. _Oh._ Uh. Hi.” Her black eyes darted between them, processing what was going on. Historia wondered if she ever knew what had gone on between them. If Eren ever told her. She didn’t think so. Eren never told Mikasa much.

“... You’re back.” She concluded awkwardly. “When... did you get back?”

“A couple of months ago,” Historia informed her. “My dad retired, and I figured he could use some entertainment since he’s bored.” She shrugged. “It’s been helping me out, and I don’t need to worry about finding a babysitter.”

“Oh,” Mikasa blinked, her expression falling into the most common one Historia received whenever she told people of her maternal status. “Oh, that’s right. You’re a single mother.”

“Yep. Young, single mom—that’s me.”

Mikasa flushed tomato red under the streetlights. “I—I didn’t—” She looked to Eren for help. He coughed into his elbow.

Historia grinned, sidling up to her. “I’m just messing with you, Mikasa! Are you doing okay?” She rubbed her back. “Eren told me about the restaurant. And you’re married? That’s amazing!”

“U—Uh, yeah. Um. Kiyomi’s still teaching me, but it’s mine mostly,” she blubbered, fingering a piece of her hair. “A—And things are going well with Jean, I suppose… We had a small wedding. Close family and friends.”

“I wish I coulda been there! I’m sure the ceremony was beautiful! Any plans for babies?”

She bloomed. “Jean w—wants a few, but… I’m not ready yet.” Mikasa breathed, turning serious. “I told him we should take it slow. He says he’s okay with waiting.”

“It’s for the best,” Historia said, stepping away. “Babies are an even bigger responsibility than marriage. Your life isn’t yours anymore when you have kids.”

Mikasa looked to Eren, hesitant. He only shrugged in response, his stuffed in his pockets. She held her wrist, concealing a tattoo Mikasa never had before. Historia caught the tiniest glimpse of it in the orange light but didn’t have a chance to decipher it or ask before Mikasa said, “When did you know you were ready? To have kids, I mean?”

Historia thought. “Well. I always wanted to be a mom. Ever since I was six, and even after my dad gave me _the talk_.” Frieda had to take over that conversation, the three youngest sisters confused. Rod couldn’t stop stuttering and couldn’t properly roll the condom on the banana with his sweaty hands and a flushed face. Historia couldn't imagine he managed the conversation with her brothers.

“You weren’t scared?”

“Of course I was—I was eighteen and alone.” Historia shrugged, leaving out the details of how Ymir’s father was just some guy she hooked up with at a party. “But you make it work when it’s time. You make sacrifices. It’s what parents do.”

Mikasa smiled. “Right. Thanks, Historia.” She didn’t know what she was being thanked for. She hadn’t done much. But Mikasa turned her attention to Eren, pulling his ear. He flinched, fixing her with a glare. “I need you back inside,” she said, stern, very much like Carla. It almost made Historia laugh.

Eran tipped his head, annoyed. “Ya voy, chica.” He discreetly rubbed his ear.

Her face scrunched at the name. Mikasa waved him away, walking off. “Two minutes before I dock your pay.”

He whined. “Oh, c’mon, Mikasa! Don’t be like that!”

She opened the door, flashing him two fingers for two minutes. Then she was back inside.

Historia giggled, punching his arm. “You should go,” she offered. “I don’t wanna get you in trouble.”

He waved a dismissive hand. “I’m not in trouble. She just thinks she can boss me around all the time ‘cause she owns the place now,” Eren brushed off. “But, yeah, I guess I should go.” Eren’s eyes lingered on her face. “Goodnight, Historia. I’ll… see you around?”

Historia could only nod, all the words she wanted to say lodged in her throat. She waved like a total fucking dork. God, she was a mom now, and this one guy made her feel like a stupid little schoolgirl. Eren walked away, the lights casting shadows over his back and Historia that tender pang truck again deep in her chest. She didn’t want him to walk away.

She breathed, a faint pulse pounding in her ears. “Eren?” She called. Eren stopped and looked over his shoulder. “Do you wanna come over?”

His brows furrowed for a moment. He turned around, the implication of her words smacking him in the face. “Like… tonight?”

Historia nodded. “Right after you finish. Just come over.” She shrugged. “You know you don’t have to use the front door.”

A thousand emotions passed through his face. Eren looked every bit a man, but he was still just a boy with a fragile heart she’d once crushed. His gaze dropped to the cement. “Historia, I…” Eren swayed his head. “Believe me when I say I really want to, but I… I can’t do that again.”

“I know,” she said, nodding. “I, um. I want to give this a try.”

He blinked several times, disbelieving. “So, you’re… asking me out?”

She blushed. “Y—Yeah. When you put it that way," she blubbered. "I—I guess so.”

His mouth opened and closed. Eren ran a hand across his jaw, contemplating. He tried so hard to conceal his glee, but it radiated off him. “Okay. Okay, can I take you out next Thursday? You can bring Ymir if you want.”

Her brows flew. “You want me to bring my pain in the ass toddler?”

“Uh, yeah?” He tilted his head, his brow raised. “Unless… You don’t want to? I’m fine with whatever you decide.” Eren held up his hands. “It’s your choice—you’re the mom.”

She grinned. “I’ll bring her. But you’re gonna regret asking that.”

“I doubt it.”

* * *

Historia sobbed at how amazing Eren felt inside her. She hitched her legs higher up his waist, locking her ankles behind his back. His next thrust drove deeper, scrubbing that right spot that almost made her blackout.

She preferred it rough and quick, both of them too lazy to take all their clothes off. Eren would take off his shirt, shrug his pants low; flip her school skirt up, and push her panties to the side. She loved those days when her sisters weren’t home, where Eren could take her from behind—restless and wild; one hand on her shoulder, while the other switched between gripping her hips, rubbing her ass, and spanking her. Once Historia coaxed him out of his initial hesitancy, Eren was as loud as her—telling her how perfect she felt on his cock, what a good little girl she was for him, taking all of him. His praises added to the sweet reverberation of their wet skin slapping her room. She loved it just as much as being on top, where she could control the pace and watch Eren’s eyes flit over her body and come undone under her small hand holding his throat. She didn’t think there could be anything better.

Rod passed out on the loveseat when Historia arrived home. Ymir dozed on his chest, both of them drooling on each other. She smiled. She might not have had that with Rod, but she was glad Ymir did. Historia paused the live-action _Peter Pan_ movie playing on the flatscreen, waking her father and telling him to move to his room. He grumbled a bunch of nonsense in Spanish and dragged his ass upstairs.

Historia had enough time to tuck Ymir into bed, put the leftovers away, and freshen up and change into a sleep shirt before the low rumble of Eren’s power cruiser purred beyond her window.

Her room was the same—the cream walls bare and mahogany furniture. It was still messy with her clothes and Ymir’s clothes and books everywhere. Rod never bothered snipping the vines webbing up her window. Eren climbed it like he’d done a thousand times before, shoving the panel open like old times.

Historia didn’t remember who kissed who first—she didn’t even wait until he was fully inside. The smell of his musky cologne and the hint of gasoline clinging to his clothes were intoxicating. The feel of his full, soft lips on hers and his wind-blown hair between her fingers had her body melting against his, her mind thrown back to those halcyon afternoons. He chuckled into her mouth, almost tripping off the windowsill and into her arms.

His hands flew into her hair, then dropped to slip under her shirt, between the elastic of her panties. He squeezed her ass. _I wanted to take that dress off you so bad_ , he whined in her ear, nibbling on her earlobe. _It was so hard to keep my hands off you_. She bit her lip. _You would’ve ripped it,_ she told him, freeing his hair from the tie. It was just as long as she thought—shoulder length. He made an indignant sound. _Yeah, and you would’ve liked it._ She giggled into his kiss, her hands popping the buttons of his dress shirt and fumbling with his belt buckle. _We have to be quiet. They’re sleeping._ He made another sound. _I’m more worried about_ you _being noisy._

Once unbuckled, Historia pushed him towards her bed and urged him to sit. Eren propped on his elbows on the center of her bed, his eyes eager when she dropped to her knees shoving his pants and underwear to his thighs, fishing his cock out. She spit on him, slicking her movements, stroking him to hardness. _God, you’re so big!_ Eren groaned low in his heaving chest when she licked teasingly. _Good girl, mama. Así._ She wrapped her lips around the tip, swishing his salty taste, and Eren shifted his weight to one elbow so his shaky hand could pet her hair.

She took him halfway, developing a rhythm with gentle suction, sucking him for all he was worth. Eren fisted her hair, his lip caught between his teeth. The muffled sounds of him and the squeeze of her hair flared the heat between her legs. _Mhm. Like that. Keep going_. He liked it wet and sloppy, lots of teasing of the head and loud slurping. She slid him to the back of her throat, her hand tight on his base. Eren squeezed his half-lidded eyes shut in bliss, hissing, _Sí, mama. Tu boca se siente riquísima_. Historia moaned around him, tears brimming in her eyes. Her other hand slid up his body, nails scratching his twitching thigh, his rippled torso. 

A peek of swirling black ink on the side of his torso roused her interest when Historia skirted her hand across his defined abs. She moved his tank top slightly out of the way, but she didn’t have time to see more. Eren pulled himself up into a sitting position. His eyes were fully blown and dark. His hand slithered down to toy with her nipples over her shirt. She knew what he wanted, but Eren still tried to ask. _Lemme—please... C—Can I…_ Historia paused her bobbing, letting go of his shaft. She braced her hands on his strong thighs and relaxed her throat.

Eren continued to hold her hair in his fist, cupping her cheek tenderly in his other. She allowed him to use her mouth, keeping her tongue flush to his underside, her eyes locked onto his even when her vision blurred with more tears and she winced with every touch to her throat. Slobber trickled down her chin. _Shit!_ He whispered. _You look so beautiful like this._ _Fuck! Feels so fucking good!_ His heavy length throbbed and pulsed on her tongue, and Historia knew he was close to losing it. She never let another guy do this—didn’t trust them enough not to hurt her. Eren was rough but careful, never squeezing too hard and always making sure to use his words. And he was so beautiful and expressive. It never failed to get her so hot. Her hand snuck down her body to rub her aching clit.

He noticed. Eren abruptly ripped her wet mouth off him, stroking himself in a tight fist. _Open,_ Eren commanded huskily. Historia panted for breath but closed her fingers around his, presenting her tongue. She blinked up at him while the two of them jerked him off. Eren burst not a minute later, all of it on her tongue. Historia swallowed it all and cleaned him off while he muttered what a good girl she was.

She felt proud, wiping the fluids from her chin, a hot flush scattering to her own ache between her thighs she continued to play with. Eren was one of those guys who could last for a while after a lot of practicing in their youth _,_ her jaw and knees aching by the time he reached completion.

He hauled her onto his lap, rewarding her with kisses all over her face and lips. Where most guys were grossed out, Eren never cared if he tasted himself. He held her face, wiping her tears with his thumbs. _Are you okay?_ She answered with happy little sounds, nuzzling his cheek.

Eren grinned, spinning them around. He threw her on the bed, flipping her onto her stomach. Eren hiked her shirt to her shoulders, kissing the skin bared to him, working a wet trail down her spine. His hair sluiced over her sensitive skin, her back arching to his affection. He pulled her hips, planting her knees on the edge of the bed, and slid her panties to her knees.

She clenched with anticipation, ready for him to take her like that. But Eren had other plans, pulling away. _Spread your legs for me, mama. Show me that ass._ Historia blushed, spreading them as much as her underwear allowed. She looked over her shoulder for approval. Eren bit his lip at her display, kneading her ass cheeks. _Fuck, look at you—so wet for me._

Historia huffed. _Are you gonna do anything about it?_ Eren’s eyes narrowed. He spanked her—not enough to hurt, just enough to warn her not to talk back, the sound echoing in her room. Historia bit her lip at the slight sting. _Maybe,_ he taunted, swiping the rough pad of his finger between her folds. _You think you deserve it?_

 _Mhm._ She hummed, flashing him her most desperate, pleading look. _Please, baby boy? I need you._ He licked his lips. _I want you so bad, please,_ Historia begged, and that seemed to do the trick. Eren ducked, and in no time, his tongue dipped between her folds, licking a broad stripe up and up, digging between her cheeks. Historia shuddered with every repetition. _¿Así, mama?_ She nodded vigorously. _Sí, papa. Please._

Eren got to quick work making a meal out of her, muttering how she still tasted so _good_ and how much he missed this _ass_ between his lavishing tongue. He knew every little thing to do with his tongue, his hands, what to say to reduce her to nothing more than a shaking, blubbering mess. Historia grit her teeth, fisting her bedsheets, burying her moans of _qué rico, papa. More. Please,_ into her comforter. His facial hair added a delicious sensation to the heady mess she never knew she needed. His long, thick fingers joined in the fray, sliding inside with no resistance, reaching parts her fingers never could.

Historia arched her back, stiff nipples flush to the bed. She pressed into his thrusts, her hand clamping over his on her ass. _So good, baby boy, yes,_ slipped from her parted lips. Eren curled his fingers just the right amount, and her mind tipping on the precipice of going blank. Her orgasm was right there, there, _there—_ Historia tried spreading her legs for more access, but her underwear constricted her movements. Eren noticed and tore them. They weren’t anything special. Historia couldn’t care less. And Eren was right—she _did_ like it when he plunged headfirst into aggression. 

His tongue was a force, and his fingers insistent, rubbing that spot every time he stroked inside. _Eren… Fuck…_ She was lost in the white-hot pressure building and coiling tight in her belly, her hips moving sloppily to the strokes of his tongue. Her toes curled. Eren told her to come for him, and Historia didn’t resist.

She screamed into the bedsheets wrung by her head and spasmed around his fingers, coating them in her release. Eren licked her clean, thighs twitching from the aftershocks. Her mind was in a quiet, pulsing ruin. Historia almost forgot where she was until the cold air licked her exposed bottom half, snapping her back. She shivered, her reality centered.

She distantly heard clothes shuffling and dropping to the rug behind her. She _still_ thought Eren wanted to take her from behind—it _was_ one of his favorite positions—and she wouldn’t have stopped him. But Eren maneuvered Historia onto her back. The gentle look in his eyes made her heart skip.

She hooked an arm around his shoulders while Eren scooped her up in his arm. He crawled across her bed, resting her head on her pillows. Eren took a quiet moment to admire her before he claimed her lips in a sweet, drowsy kiss. He moved down her neck when it started getting good, dragging down her chest. He teased her nipple with his tongue and teeth. Historia arched into him, but Eren didn’t stay too long—too impatient and painfully hard again. 

He slipped her shirt off and pulled himself up to line his length to her entrance, the two of them spreading her legs. They never bothered with condoms. Call her stupid, but Historia liked feeling him bare, and… if anything ever happened, she knew Eren would take care of her. He wasn’t the runner—she was.

Historia touched his torso, on the verge of asking about his tattoo, when Eren slid into her, stealing her breath away. The stretch was so mind-numbingly _amazing_ and he was only halfway in. She moaned. It was better than when they were young. Eren sighed in satisfaction, sinking all of himself inside. She loosely wrapped her arms around him and bit his shoulder as he rocked them into a slow tempo. She couldn’t imagine time and distance would make sex between them so much better, but it was happening with every thrust inside her.

 _You okay?_ He huffed, taking one hand off his shoulder and pinning it by her head. He locked their fingers together.

Historia squeezed his hand, letting her head fall back onto her pillow, watching the myriad of pleasure wreck his pretty face. _Keep going, Eren. Feels good,_ she told him.

His toned body gliding on hers, not an iota of space between them, and his thick length sinking into her in this teasing pace made her rethink her preferences. This was sinful—worlds different from their first time when they were sixteen. Eren was sloppy, his virgin status emphasized with each wrong prod and driving in so deep it hurt. He came so embarrassingly fast. Eren couldn’t look her in the eye for a whole week before Historia convinced him to try again. It was the only time he’d ever been on top without her legs draped over his shoulders later on.

There was no clumsiness in his gyrating hips now. Only an arrogant confidence propelled his moves as Eren filled her to the brim, making her quiver and dig her nails into him. He wanted her to feel every inch of him like never before. He wanted to distort her into a lightheaded mess she never permitted him to do before. She’d been too scared—of his feelings, of her own. Historia still was, but it wasn’t enough to bolt her shut anymore.

Historia sobbed, her thighs locked around his waist squeezing him. “Fuck, Eren,” Historia whimpered, scratching his scalp in approval. “You feel so good inside me.”

Eren gnawed on his bottom lip, tanned cheeks flushed. He didn’t have a full beard, just a trail of hair outlining his delicate jaw and she loved that. “You’re always so fucking wet for me, mama.” He ducked his forehead to her cheek, grunting out praises on her chest. “So perfect—so tight. _Shit._ I can't believe we're doing this again,” he murmured.

She undulated her hips; the thick slide of him breaking her out into a shudder. She couldn’t see where they were joined, his pelvis grinding right on her clit, but knew he was slick with her essence, a wet squelching developing between them. Eren caught her in another kiss, snatching her hazy thoughts, tangling her tongue with his. Historia dug her nails into the muscles flexing in his shoulders, leaving protrusions he’d be so proud to wear tomorrow. Eren made a sound of approval she caught in her mouth. She slipped further down and palmed his ass, enticing him to go faster. Eren only ripped away from her mouth to moan.

“H—Hey, keep it down,” Historia chided but it came out as breathless mewls. “They’re s—sleeping— _oh, shit!_ Do that again!” She squealed.

Eren chuckled, shaking his head. He tweaked her nipple in his calloused fingers. “Take your own advice.” He bit her throat, leaving a mark she’d have to conceal tomorrow. "If they wake up, it's on you."

She squeezed her eyes shut, snapping her hips faster. She didn't want to think about her father or Ymir right now. She just wanted Eren to fuck her into this bed until she was boneless and breathless and all she knew was his name. As much as she enjoyed the slower pace before, Historia was frustrated by it now. Even more so by the fact that he practically had her pinned to the bed, forcing her to just take it as it was. She pressed her heels to the small of his back and Eren still didn’t take the bait.

“More, papa. Want you deeper,” she begged, clutching his hair. Historia forced his heady eyes to meet hers. She loved seeing the same carnal desire reflected in his, and Eren _loved_ hearing her beg. “Please, Eren? Give it to me harder—mhm! Like that, baby boy.” Eren snapped his knees closer, digging them into her bed, controlling the angle and speed of his thrusts better. “So good! ¡Dámelo así!”

“Carajo,” he whispered, grated, pressing his forehead to hers. Eren punctuated his words with thorough thrusts. “You’re. So. Fucking. Needy!”

Historia bobbed her head, squeezing his hand in affirmation. "Need you all the time." His pace quickened, their hips meeting in almost perfect unison. His thick length dragging so sweetly inside her she could barely speak, just clinging to him helplessly while she chased her impending orgasm. Eren latched onto her neck, his lips tracing all her sweaty skin, the sheets sticking to her back. She wouldn't be able to walk tomorrow. Her body would be painted in his marks.

He grunted when she squeezed his hair, forcing their lips to meet again. She tilted her head for a slightly better angle, the heat between them permeating her room, and pulled away before it deepened. “I missed you so much,” she whispered on his swollen lips, her thumb caressing his flushed cheek, a thick strand of hair smeared there.

“Yeah?” He had the nerve to smirk. “You missed my big dick?”

“J—Just you.” He blinked but didn’t slow. She scrambled to diffuse the sweet noises filling her room with her rumpled comforters jammed between their thighs. Her father and Ymir could sleep through thunderstorms and her door was closed, but Historia didn’t want to jinx it. “I used to think about you— _hmm_ —when I—I was with other guys”—a gasp punched out of her when Eren drove deep—“fuck, Eren, yes! Keep going! ¡No pares!”

“Keep talking, and I won’t,” he told her. “Cuéntame.”

Historia held onto his hair, the hot twist in her belly forming. She licked her lips, kissing his neck. “I u—used to think it was you fucking me. Wished it was you—almost called out your name.” Eren groaned, continuing to give it to her just how she wanted it. His pulse raced. “None of them touched me like you. S—Sometimes it was the only way I could come.” 

“ _Fuck, Historia!_ ” He growled, clamping his free hand around her throat. He pushed off her, never breaking his stride. “You’re so bad!”

“ _Oh, my God!_ ” His movements had been so agonizingly slow and reverent, and now they were ruthless; the headboard rattling the wall, the lamplights in her room casting him in glaring shadows. “Do it! Please, Eren! I wanna come so bad!”

“What’s the safe word?” He demanded, slipping out of her hand lock to adjust her leg, folding it open, and pinning it flat on her bed.

“Grey! Two fingers!” She blurted hastily, her fingers so little around his thick wrist, urging him to start. "Please, please, please—”

The compression nicked the rest of her begging. Eren squeezed just the right amount, her pulse pounding echoing in her skull. Historia bit her lip, her moans reduced to pathetic little wheezes. She clutched his thigh to keep herself steady and grounded to reality. His free hand switched between rubbing her nipples and clutching her hips, his predatory eyes flitting from carefully watching the countless expressions rushing across her face to the pretty pink flush blossoming on her neck, inching down to her bouncing tits.

His grip instantly slackened when she signaled him. Historia wetly gasped for air.

Eren massaged the column of her throat, slowing his thrusts. “You okay?” He rasped.

Historia nodded. Eren was close; she could tell by his furrowed brow and his hooded eyes. He was holding out for her, and the thought almost made her smile. He must've learned a thing or two while they'd been apart. “Una vez más.”

He nodded once, applying the same pressure, and sped up his thrusts, determined to make both of them come. His crown rubbed her sweet spot head-on with every drive home. He drank her in greedily—her curvy little body spread so open and vulnerable under him, his big hand holding tight to her throat. Historia felt so small under his long, tattooed torso and corded arms that could easily crush her, but she knew Eren wouldn't hurt her. They both enjoyed the power play too much, and it was coming to a sweet end for her. She tensed, all the muscles in her body wound tight, falling deeper and deeper into her gratification. She squeezed her eyes shut, bowing her back, her shoulders pressed to the bed.

“C’mon, baby,” Eren urged raggedly, his thrusts losing momentum. She could barely open her eyes to meet his. "Be a good girl and come for me. Come all over my cock. Wanna come with you." She didn't hold back, the exhilarating strength of her orgasm hitting her like a downpour; her core rippling around him just like Eren asked for. “Oh, shit!” He gasped, slamming his hand by her hair. “Fuck yes! Good girl! So good! Can I—”

“Yes!” She croaked, grabbing his hip, digging her nails into his trembling thigh. “Inside me! It’s okay!”

Eren didn’t need to be told twice. He kneeled over her, surging one last time, and released inside her. She kissed him, silencing his moans and whatever other praises he might've had. Eren kissed back for a moment or two before he pulled away, spent and catching his breath.

Historia peeled his matted hair off his forehead, his neck. She tucked it behind his ear with the industrial. “Hey, how come you grew your hair so long?”

“Why?” He huffed, peeking at her. “You hate it?”

She shook her head. “No, I love it." Historia pulled on his earlobe. "Just wondering if there was a reason—a _girl_ you were trying to impress, maybe?” She teased.

Eren smiled slightly, pulling out of her. “The only girl I’ve ever tried to impress is you.” He shuffled her to the side so he had enough space to fold in behind her.

Historia turned around, facing him. “The jokes on you ‘cause I’m easily impressed.”

“I dunno about that. You hated me at first.”

"Well. Yeah. You were hot and I didn't know what to do."

Eren chuckled, fingering a strand of her hair. "I just kind of forgot to cut it off, honestly. My mom and Mikasa hate it.”

“Well, I love it.”

Eren pulled her close, nuzzling his head into her neck, his facial hair rubbing her sensitive skin. She shivered. “You already said that.”

“Well, I’ll say it again ‘cause you don’t seem to believe me when I compliment you!” She squirmed in his embrace, poking his side. “And what’s with the tattoo? When’d you get that? Are you gonna get it colored in?”

“What’re you, my mom with the twenty questions?” He muttered into her shoulder.

“No! I just wanna know! I’m curious.”

Eren sighed, wanting to get comfortable but her pestering prevented him. “I got it three months ago. And no, I like how it is. Colors would ruin the brushstroke feel it has going on.”

“That’s true.” She said, her fingers running over the ink, the grooves of his muscles, his breathing steady under her careful touch. "Did it hurt?"

"Fuck, yeah. I cried like a little bitch."

She chuckled, absentmindedly stroking his side. Eren lifted his head when she went silent for too long, thinking she must've fallen asleep. She usually did after sex. He blinked when Historia's brow rose and she stopped petting him. "You know phoenixes are my favorite mythical creatures, right?'

Eren blanched, the comforter he planned to wrap around them suspended in the air. “I… I didn’t get it ‘cause of you...”

“Yeah. _Right_.” She took the comforter from him, shoving it on top of them. "It's just a _total_ coincidence I moved back three months ago and you _happen_ to have that tattoo."

“It is! The tattoo has nothing to do with you!” He said hastily. "I just thought it was cool!"

She rolled her eyes. “Whatever. Lemme dream, okay?” Historia pointed over his shoulder. “Can you pass me your shirt or something? And turn off the light.”

“Why?” He deadpanned but flipped over. “I like when you’re naked. It's easier for later.”

Historia flicked the back of his neck, and Eren twitched. “‘Cause I have a feeling we woke my kid up. Or, worse, my dad. And get my phone, too.”

He groaned at the mention of Rod. Their dislike of each other was mutual. He usually didn’t spend the night and whenever he did, Eren ducked out before Rod woke up. Historia didn’t know if her father ever knew what went on between them, but he _had_ to know something was up when Eren was over almost everyday.

He passed her his tank top. It was loose and ended just above her knees. When Eren picked up her phone after shoving on his boxers and turning off the lamp, he froze; his face shining with the light blue glare of her phone screen. "... Historia?"

"Hm?"

Eren looked... Historia didn't know how to describe it. "Can you pull up the full picture?"

"Sure..." She punched in the passcode, unlocking it. She hit the Do Not Disturb crescent moon, then opened her photo app, scrolling through her two-thousand-something photos until she found the one taken six months ago. Historia watched Eren zoom in to the sleeve. She pressed her cheek to his shoulder. "What is it?"

"She's wearing my sweater," he said.

"... Eh?"

Eren laughed. He turned the phone so she could see, pointing. "You see that burn on the sleeve?” His finger outlined the cuff. “I did that when I was bored in art class. I just grabbed my lighter, and... yeah." The scene filled in her head. He _did_ tell her that, and she— "You took it from me 'cause you liked the color and said it was soft." Eren finished for her. He rubbed his hair. "I never thought I'd see it again. My mom always asked what happened to it. My grandma knitted it for me."

She always wondered where that cardigan came from when she saw it on Ymir. It was stupid not to assume it was Eren's. His clothes were some of the only things that fit comfortably when she was pregnant. And now she remembered most of his sweaters and stolen T-shirts were tucked and folded in an unmarked box she switched from keeping in her closet to under her bed. Ymir must've found that box when Historia hadn't been paying attention. Her toddler loved going through her closet and strapping on her heels though she could barely walk without jumping straight into a sprint.

"You can have it back," Historia told him. "I'll find it."

"Nah. It looks cuter on her."

**Author's Note:**

> I went a whole prompt w/o mentioning Bad Bunny. ;~; Be proud of me!


End file.
